Mary walked into the nail salon as she’d done a dozen times before, took a look around and saw that today was going to be a very busy day. All the pedicure chairs were full and it seemed that every employee was in attendance.
Tina, a very petite Vietnamese girl, looked up from her station and immediately smiled.“Hi Mary!” She said. “You want Fill-In? Pedicure?"
Mary looked down at her wrinkled hands. “Just a Fill-In today, Tina.”
“Pick a color.” Tina swung her head in the direction of the nail polish rack. “I’ll be ready for you in ten minute.”
She said it out of habit, as she knew that Mary liked her nails to look natural and she never used polish. Mary returned the smile then took a seat. As is often the case when a woman is in the company of other women, she felt herself being sized up by some of the other female customers. Though she could have easily thrown on a pair of sweats that day, her upbringing had instilled in her the notion of always looking her best. At times it had caused her problems. And it had saddened her to discover over the years just how many people judged someone on appearance alone. But she had refused to allow others to change who she was or what she believed. She simply looked over, smiled at them and hoped they would smile back.
As she glanced back at Tina, she saw her wave and Mary stood, eager to get on with it as she had a million things to do that day.
When she was settled in her chair, she held out her hands. Tina gave them a careful inspection. Two of Mary’s nails had broken off and her hands looked especially old in the fluorescent glare of the shop‘s lights.
“You work hard?” Tina asked, then laughed.
“Hard enough…” Mary responded. She’d broken them wrapping several Christmas packages for a local charity.
As Tina went about her business Mary leaned back in her chair, her reply still lingering. Hard enough …..Her gaze fell upon her hands. If these hands could talk… She smiled to herself. If they could talk indeed….
“You not working today?” Tina always asked her this.
And her reply was always “No.”
“You lucky…” Tina commented.
Lucky? She asked herself. She often wondered if it hadn’t been more by some sort of cosmic design. Mary hadn’t worked outside the home in eighteen years. Not since her daughter had been one year old. How many times had she heard just how fortunate she was to be able to do this? Probably more times than she could count. Mary would always nod in agreement never telling anyone about the disability that sometimes robbed her of days at a time. She was still grateful though, regardless of the reason, that she had been able to spend those years at home with her children.
As Tina applied new nail tips to her fingers with the broken nails, Mary’s mind wandered back to her younger years. Years of working in labs, her index fingers etched from working with acid, and parched from years of scrubbing glassware. How many jobs had she had over the years? More than she could count on two hands. The thought brought a wry smile to her lips. And an image of her hands always busy…Serving food to patients at the local hospital, tearing off EKG strips for Doctors to inspect in an Intensive Care Unit, putting up sales displays at a Department Store, hauling fifty pound bags of grass seed when she’d worked in a Garden Shop…. And then the more pleasant memory of doling out bridal gowns and veils to anxious brides-to-be when she’d worked in the Bridal Shop. Mary could easily state that she’d never been afraid of work.
“How’s your daughter?” Tina interrupted her flow of thoughts.
“She’s better... Thanks Tina.” All the girls at the salon knew that Mary’s daughter had struggled with an autoimmune disease and then a bout with cancer. It had been a very long tough battle. Annie had always been delicate and then at the age of twelve she had gotten very sick. Mary once again wandered back in time, her mind filled with more images--the bitter and the sweet.
Yes, her hands had many stories to tell…Washing bottles and endless loads of baby clothes…. Patting backs, rubbing tummies, playing peek-a boo, wiping up accidents from the kitchen and bathroom floors…Helping the kids get dressed, making things for school projects,…And then the darker memories…Holding Annie’s hand through all of her medical tests, Doctor’s appointments and surgeries. Hours spent wondering how it all would turn out… And the hardest of all…Placing her hands on her daughter’s shoulders to tell her she’d had cancer…And though Annie was over the worst of it, she still struggled to this day and Mary still took care of her. Yes, staying home had been a blessing.
Tina pulled out her gel powders. “You want pink and white fill-in? And nails shorter?”
Mary nodded. “Yes. Not too long.” Mary had become an artist and a writer in recent years and needed her fingers to be useful as well as “glamorous”…It was another reason for her ever present gratitude of being able to remain at home with the kids. She would never have discovered these talents otherwise. Or that she might be able to actually make a living at doing the things that she loved.
Tina pulled one of Mary’s hands closer and proceeded to fill in each nail bed with pink gel. “You got a party to go to?” It was almost New Year’s Eve and it was a logical assumption.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” Mary had a wonderful party to attend at a friend’s house. ---A well to do friend whose parties were the talk of the town. Mary traveled in such circles--And a friend whose recommendation of a certain Doctor had once saved her life. Yes, life had given her many blessings.
“You gonna wear something sexy?” Tina asked, quite seriously.
Mary had to resist the urge to laugh. “At my age? Probably not…”
Tina tsked, tsked. “Your age? You still young!!”
At the half century mark, Mary didn’t think so. But truthfully the mirror told another tale for she didn‘t look anything near to her age--Another blessing. Her hands however, told a different story.
Her life hadn’t always been comfortable…Memories came flooding back…Living in welfare housing, trying to repair a hole in the ceiling to keep the roaches out, cleaning up a neighbor’s face after her boyfriend beat her, putting up a tent in her living room when she babysat the neighbor’s son to give him a break from parents who partied way too much, fending off an abusive partner and other images that she fought hard to forget.
And then there was one very distinct memory in great detail…A dozen eggs dropped on the floor--her hands cleaning up the goopy mess with tears streaming down her face--as she was flat broke till the end of the month and she wouldn‘t be able to buy any more food.
But that was all in the past…
Mary hadn’t realized just how much time had passed while she'd gotten lost in past remembrances until Tina smiled then let go of her hands. She looked down at her fingers, now all manicured and pretty, the white tips of the nails glistening. Upon closer inspection she realized that her hands were actually quite lovely. Wrinkled? Yes…But sturdy and capable as well. And with the grace of God perhaps she’d have many more years ahead to make them useful.
“You know, Tina, perhaps I’ll take your advice.” Yes, she’d go out today and buy herself a new dress. Something daring to celebrate her life and all that she had to be grateful for. For after her party, a new business venture awaited-- A wonderful opportunity to promote her artwork. It looked like she was finally on her way to realizing a dream.
“Thanks so much Tina. And I hope you have a wonderful New Year!”
“You, too, Mary!” Tina gave her the warmest of smiles then whispered. “Buy a red dress. You look good in red!”
Mary chuckled then paid the bill and headed out to do her chores.
Later, at home, as she sat down to check her email she found a note from a friend with a request to make a list of NewYear’s Resolutions. She sat for a bit and considered just what exactly it was that she wanted to do with the rest of her life. With her thoughts still focused on her musings of earlier that day, she leaned forward and started to type:
My List of Things To Do Before I Leave Planet Earth
1) To be all that I can be, no matter what circumstances I find myself in.
2) To spread joy, wherever I go, and try to make others smile.
3) To help in any way that I am able to, when the need arises, wherever I may be or with whom.
4) To use my creativity in productive and inspirational ways.
5) To do my best, in whatever way I can, to ensure that children will not have to suffer unfairly or unnecessarily, in any way, shape or form.
6) To try to spend what's left of my life savoring the little things...
7) To learn to be happy with what I have, even if it doesn't seem like my fair share...
8) To learn to accept my limitations and love myself no matter how inept or useless I may feel at times...
9) To learn to trust others and lean on them if they offer help.
10)To accept that there will always be people who will judge me and who will never understand my hardships and to not allow them to rob me of my joy.
With that completed, she sat back and gazed down at her now pampered hands. Yes, Mary thought, if these hands could talk they would raise themselves to the heavens and say, “ Thank you! For the many opportunities you have brought this way. For they have made us what we are today.” And then, they would get ready to reach out in faith, to do whatever was right and necessary, knowing that whatever the future brought, things would be as they should be.
And she wouldn’t have it any other way…
* * * * * *
May the New Year bring each and every one of you blessings in abundance and may you never forget all that you have to be thankful for!
Happy New Year…
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Thursday, December 16, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
FOOD FOR THOUGHT
I found this online and thought I'd share it with you...
Try to keep in mind the following:
-if you have woken up this morning feeling healthy, you are luckier than 500 million people that will not wake up the next morning
-if you have never experienced the fear of war, loneliness, incarceration, the agony of torture, hunger, you are in a better position than 500 million people in the world
-if you can enter a church freely, without threats, or the fear of getting arrested or discriminated against, you are luckier than 3 billion people on the planet
-if you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your body, roof over your head, a place to sleep in, you are richer than 75% of inhabitants of this planet
-if you have money in the bank, your wallet, or change somewhere in some box, you are among 8% of well-to-do people
-if you have parents, and are still married, you belong in a rare group of people
-if you can read this text, you are not among 2 billion people who cannot read
Somebody said once: work as if you do not need money, love as if you have never suffered, dance as if nobody is watching you and sing as if nobody is listening.
Live as if Heaven is on Earth. And when you read this know that somebody is thinking of you and that you are not alone.....
Try to keep in mind the following:
-if you have woken up this morning feeling healthy, you are luckier than 500 million people that will not wake up the next morning
-if you have never experienced the fear of war, loneliness, incarceration, the agony of torture, hunger, you are in a better position than 500 million people in the world
-if you can enter a church freely, without threats, or the fear of getting arrested or discriminated against, you are luckier than 3 billion people on the planet
-if you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your body, roof over your head, a place to sleep in, you are richer than 75% of inhabitants of this planet
-if you have money in the bank, your wallet, or change somewhere in some box, you are among 8% of well-to-do people
-if you have parents, and are still married, you belong in a rare group of people
-if you can read this text, you are not among 2 billion people who cannot read
Somebody said once: work as if you do not need money, love as if you have never suffered, dance as if nobody is watching you and sing as if nobody is listening.
Live as if Heaven is on Earth. And when you read this know that somebody is thinking of you and that you are not alone.....
Monday, November 29, 2010
Mosaic...A little piece of me....
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Premonition
As if things have not been strange enough for me lately, I had a weird dream the other night. I have been on a sort of vision quest the past two or three years, determined to find what Paulo Coelho calls my "personal legend", my raison d'etre, my purpose in life. And so far I have discovered this talent I have for art.
And so, in the past two years I have often dreamed of things relating to my creativity. I once dreamed of a box of chalk and a baby. The chalk was a gift to me given by the person who inspired me to draw portraits in the first place, the baby my first stage of growth.
Well the other night I dreamed of a small child. It seemed my baby had now become a toddler. As I watched my toddler scamper across the room a man walked by. He was dressed in tan slacks and a cream colored shirt. He was tall, with dark hair and eyes. And though his face wasn't all that clear, I somehow knew his name. He passed by me, smiled and then receded into the background, where he remained in shadow. I peered in to get a closer look but it wasn't possible. It seemed as if he just wanted to check in on me somehow.
When I awoke the next day, I thought that I had had a prophetic dream about someone I was yet to meet. Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen. I remember telling a friend about the dream and even posting on Facebook about my uneasiness.
Well the day after that, I learned that a good friend had died unexpectedly at the age of 46. And lo and behold his name was the very same one of the man I had dreamed of. In fact, he fit the description of the man in the dream. But the strangest thing of all was that I had seen that very same friend about a month prior and we had had a very serious conversation about past lives and what happens to the soul after you die. He was a very spiritual man, compassionate and caring to a fault and we had often explored life's mysteries and possibilities beyond that which could be scientifically proved.
I could never have imagined that a month later he would be dead. Nor that I would see him in a dream. I am still in shock. But I have come to the realization that he has moved on to a better place.And as my child in my dream had become a toddler, perhaps my friend is growing and evolving as well... Moving on to a different plane with different lessons to learn.
Bon voyage, my dear friend....May your journey be a good one...Maybe in another time, we'll meet again...
All my love,
D
And so, in the past two years I have often dreamed of things relating to my creativity. I once dreamed of a box of chalk and a baby. The chalk was a gift to me given by the person who inspired me to draw portraits in the first place, the baby my first stage of growth.
Well the other night I dreamed of a small child. It seemed my baby had now become a toddler. As I watched my toddler scamper across the room a man walked by. He was dressed in tan slacks and a cream colored shirt. He was tall, with dark hair and eyes. And though his face wasn't all that clear, I somehow knew his name. He passed by me, smiled and then receded into the background, where he remained in shadow. I peered in to get a closer look but it wasn't possible. It seemed as if he just wanted to check in on me somehow.
When I awoke the next day, I thought that I had had a prophetic dream about someone I was yet to meet. Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen. I remember telling a friend about the dream and even posting on Facebook about my uneasiness.
Well the day after that, I learned that a good friend had died unexpectedly at the age of 46. And lo and behold his name was the very same one of the man I had dreamed of. In fact, he fit the description of the man in the dream. But the strangest thing of all was that I had seen that very same friend about a month prior and we had had a very serious conversation about past lives and what happens to the soul after you die. He was a very spiritual man, compassionate and caring to a fault and we had often explored life's mysteries and possibilities beyond that which could be scientifically proved.
I could never have imagined that a month later he would be dead. Nor that I would see him in a dream. I am still in shock. But I have come to the realization that he has moved on to a better place.And as my child in my dream had become a toddler, perhaps my friend is growing and evolving as well... Moving on to a different plane with different lessons to learn.
Bon voyage, my dear friend....May your journey be a good one...Maybe in another time, we'll meet again...
All my love,
D
Thursday, November 11, 2010
ABOUT ME...
I like Monet and Degas, they saw the big picture. I like the big picture. Details just wear me out. Speaking of pictures, I’m a movie buff, of most genres… but especially oldies like those of Betty Davis and Errol Flynn. They knew how to do it with flare! And being a huge fan of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, I love ballroom dancing. The way to my heart is a turn at the tango. As for music, QUEEN ROCKS! But anything from Reggae to Ragtime can sweep me along if the tune is just right. Music speaks to me. It inspires me to dream great dreams and comforts me when nothing else will.
I never do things halfway. It’s an all-or-nothing proposition for me. …If I say I’m gonna do something, I will. And when you ask me my opinion, I’ll give it. In fact, if you asked me who I might have been in another life I would probably tell you I was a warrior, an infamous courtier or burned at the stake.
Don’t talk to me of the weather or the latest game score. Tell me your secret wishes, your greatest dreams and your highest hopes. Speak to me of times past and futures imagined- of poets and politicians and philosophers. Give me your list of things to achieve. And I’ll give you mine. Here goes… I want to jump out of a plane and sail through the sky (with a parachute attached, of course. I might be an idiot but I’m no fool) …I’d like to float up above the hills in the basket of a hot air balloon…to speak Portuguese, the tongue of my Grandfather…to learn to play a piano so I can sing my heart out into the wee hours of the morning…to write one of the greatest love stories of our time…
If life is a highway then I’ve taken a few detours along the way and most times, not of my own choice. Somehow, though, I always manage to find my way back to the Main Road. My motto?....No matter what you do in life, do your best. And go the distance!!!! Better to fail, and ask “What next?” than to withdraw and ask “What if?” Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction but you’ll never know unless you get out there and live it!!! And while you’re living it, please remember to always be kind and throw your trash in the proper receptacle.
I never do things halfway. It’s an all-or-nothing proposition for me. …If I say I’m gonna do something, I will. And when you ask me my opinion, I’ll give it. In fact, if you asked me who I might have been in another life I would probably tell you I was a warrior, an infamous courtier or burned at the stake.
Don’t talk to me of the weather or the latest game score. Tell me your secret wishes, your greatest dreams and your highest hopes. Speak to me of times past and futures imagined- of poets and politicians and philosophers. Give me your list of things to achieve. And I’ll give you mine. Here goes… I want to jump out of a plane and sail through the sky (with a parachute attached, of course. I might be an idiot but I’m no fool) …I’d like to float up above the hills in the basket of a hot air balloon…to speak Portuguese, the tongue of my Grandfather…to learn to play a piano so I can sing my heart out into the wee hours of the morning…to write one of the greatest love stories of our time…
If life is a highway then I’ve taken a few detours along the way and most times, not of my own choice. Somehow, though, I always manage to find my way back to the Main Road. My motto?....No matter what you do in life, do your best. And go the distance!!!! Better to fail, and ask “What next?” than to withdraw and ask “What if?” Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction but you’ll never know unless you get out there and live it!!! And while you’re living it, please remember to always be kind and throw your trash in the proper receptacle.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
The Lady in Black
Once upon a time there was a girl named, Serene, whose voice was so lovely that the people of her town called her the “Nightingale of Newcastle ”. On hot summer nights they would gather on the town square lawn and Serene’s voice would fill the air with a array of notes that was as sweet as any confection known to man. Her Granny took to calling her a little sunflower and said she spread sunshine wherever she went. Folks said it was a gift from God. Serene called it a blessing, as from the time she was aware that she could produce such an enchanting repertoire of musical melodies, she knew that this was what she was born to do.
And though no one could have imagined it possible, as time went on, her voice grew even more beautiful as did Serene. But with this newfound beauty Serene grew restless. Something was missing from her life. Her odd dreams told her so. And though all who heard her sing were in agreement as to the magnitude of her gift, their applause left her wanting.
One day she decided to leave her hometown for a bigger city. She hoped that sharing her gift in a larger place would make her feel whole once again. However, over time as she gained more fame, the emptiness inside only grew. And no accomplishment, not even her gig at the Grand Theatre in the heart of the City could assuage the loneliness she carried within. Then one night, as she walked on stage to perform, she heard a voice inside her head.
“He’s here!”….the voice inside her whispered.
“Who?” She asked aloud. But no answer came.
Her eyes peered into the endless sea of faces in front of her but she was blinded by the lights on stage. Yet her heart sang. And her joy bubbled up and spilled over into the notes of the song that followed. And though she had no explanation for it, for the first time in a very long while she wasn’t lonely. And when her performance was done, they showered her with roses, and applause and suddenly her heart swelled with gratitude for the instrument of her voice.
Afterward she sat in her dressing room, buoyed by the song in her heart that refused to be stilled. Her feet wanted to dance, to whirl around the room in dizzying unison with the music that played in her soul but a knock at the door broke her reverie. Instead of being annoyed, however, she cried out in anticipation. “Come in!”
He entered the room with flowers. But not just any flowers.
“I thought you might like these.” He said with a certainty that made her smile as he handed her the bouquet. His fingers were long and graceful and though she didn’t understand why, she knew that he used them to create beautiful things.
“Indeed…” she replied, motioning him to sit down beside her. She cradled the flowers in her arm, as one would hold a baby. She imagined a painting of herself in shades of gold and yellow doing just this.
“Sunflowers.” She sighed, then glanced at the photograph on her dressing table. His eyes followed her gaze. The picture was yellow with age-- taken by a Brownie camera and worn at the edges. A little girl stood surrounded by the dazzling golden bonnets of sunflowers. They filled the photograph. Her smile , however, overshadowed the entire field.
“Indeed…” He mimicked her, then smiled .
“Granny took that photo.” She simply stated.
“You must have been her little sunflower.” He then laughed. And her heart quickened.
Her eyes came to rest on his...Green pools of light that pulled her into an eddy of contentment. And suddenly she knew….Knew that he was the reason for her song.
“I’m Thomas---”
“I’m Serene---”
They spoke in unison.
“I’m an artist.” he continued….
“I know.” She answered with the same assuredness that he had shown earlier.
“Let’s go to dinner.” It was more a declaration than an invitation and as such, she should have been insulted. But she knew, just as she had known that he was an artist, that things were as they should be.
“Italian?” She stood then readied herself to go . He nodded.
“Spaghetti?” He recommended. She nodded as well.
“And champagne!” She insisted.
“My favorite.” He smiled “Espresso? Afterward?”
“Of course!” She emphatically stated. “How else would we end such an evening?
“End?” He stood, reached for her hand then placed her arm in his. "I suspect, my dear, that for you and I, there will only be a series of intermissions."
And no conclusion was ever truer because from that time on they were inseparable. He bought her Caruso records for her victrola and sunflowers from the florist on the corner. She bought him paints from Paris. They went to dance halls and danced till closing. And on wintry nights when there was nothing to be done they simply talked….Hours spent in conversation and never a lack of topic. And so, within six months they decided to marry.
On nights when Serene was spent, after a long performance, Thomas would draw her a bath and then put her to bed. And on others when he was uninspired he would go to the theatre and sit in his favorite seat where she would be sure to see him. He would close his eyes and simply listen to her make love to him with her voice. And then he would come home and paint, her songs in his heart, her music in the hand that moved across the canvas.
It was not always easy between them. She snored at times and kept him awake. He drank too much on others. And both had strong opinions. But they were as imperfectly perfect as two people could ever be.
Five years passed. Five years of more happiness than either of them had ever imagined possible. And then one Autumn afternoon on a day when Serene did not have to perform she burst through the door of their apartment, her heart aflutter with excitement.
“What is it my darling?” Thomas thought she had never looked lovelier even if she was dressed completely in black.
She placed her purse on the bedside table then reached for the pin in her hat. She wanted to be calm when she told him her news. The light from the window cast a beam of gold upon her and her auburn hair was suddenly ablaze in brandished fire. Thomas audibly sighed.
“Wait!” he cried then stilled her hand. “Don’t move!” Serene watched as he ran to gather his easel and then his paints.
He made her stand in the light, her hair bathed in the beams while he brought her to life on canvas. Serene who was accustomed to his bursts of inspiration was quite content to oblige him. He painted furiously his hand racing against the coming of night…His lady, all in black save for a burst of auburn flame and the honey hue of her skin. But halfway through he glanced up and found her studying him. And when his eyes met hers, she rendered him a smile... A secret smile… designed only for a lover’s eyes…A smile that promised so much more. And suddenly he forgot his good intentions.
He led her to their bed, and beckoned her to sit down. Then he knelt to remove her boots. Carefully with the gentleness of a handmaiden before a queen he helped her remove her garments one by one.And when they were face to face at last, Serene felt such a rush of love for Thomas it filled every space of her being. In that moment there were no words to be uttered and her news was soon forgotten. For love was in a language that had been written long before either of them had ever been born. And he loved her until all rational thought ceased to be.
Darkness enveloped them when she awoke save for a sliver of light from a marquis across the street that glanced over Thomas. She ached to wake him and tell him of her news but he slumbered so peacefully she let him be. Instead she slipped away quietly and ran down to the Italian Restaurant across the street to see if the owners would make her up two plates of spaghetti, antipasto, and whatever else she could think of….And pastries for dessert. For there was much to celebrate--A secret that had been kept for several weeks now until she was certain that it could be revealed.
A few minutes later , she scurried toward the restaurant’s front door, her arm heavy with her purchase and her thoughts a menagerie of daydreams. As she exited, the brisk October night seemed to slap at her taking her breath away. The insults kept coming, a cacophony of rat ta tat tat, that should have alerted her to danger. But her senses had turned inward as she contemplated how happy Thomas would be at her news.
The black sedan sped by spraying the storefront with a maelstrom of bullets. Glass and wood exploded all around her. But she was distracted by the wet spot on her waistcoat now gliding across her abdomen. She reached down to touch the warm fluid that seeped out from some mysterious origin and her hand came away red. Somewhere behind her she heard people scream her name and then the sound of her package hitting the ground. And then there was only silence.
* * * * * * * * *
And though no one could have imagined it possible, as time went on, her voice grew even more beautiful as did Serene. But with this newfound beauty Serene grew restless. Something was missing from her life. Her odd dreams told her so. And though all who heard her sing were in agreement as to the magnitude of her gift, their applause left her wanting.
One day she decided to leave her hometown for a bigger city. She hoped that sharing her gift in a larger place would make her feel whole once again. However, over time as she gained more fame, the emptiness inside only grew. And no accomplishment, not even her gig at the Grand Theatre in the heart of the City could assuage the loneliness she carried within. Then one night, as she walked on stage to perform, she heard a voice inside her head.
“He’s here!”….the voice inside her whispered.
“Who?” She asked aloud. But no answer came.
Her eyes peered into the endless sea of faces in front of her but she was blinded by the lights on stage. Yet her heart sang. And her joy bubbled up and spilled over into the notes of the song that followed. And though she had no explanation for it, for the first time in a very long while she wasn’t lonely. And when her performance was done, they showered her with roses, and applause and suddenly her heart swelled with gratitude for the instrument of her voice.
Afterward she sat in her dressing room, buoyed by the song in her heart that refused to be stilled. Her feet wanted to dance, to whirl around the room in dizzying unison with the music that played in her soul but a knock at the door broke her reverie. Instead of being annoyed, however, she cried out in anticipation. “Come in!”
He entered the room with flowers. But not just any flowers.
“I thought you might like these.” He said with a certainty that made her smile as he handed her the bouquet. His fingers were long and graceful and though she didn’t understand why, she knew that he used them to create beautiful things.
“Indeed…” she replied, motioning him to sit down beside her. She cradled the flowers in her arm, as one would hold a baby. She imagined a painting of herself in shades of gold and yellow doing just this.
“Sunflowers.” She sighed, then glanced at the photograph on her dressing table. His eyes followed her gaze. The picture was yellow with age-- taken by a Brownie camera and worn at the edges. A little girl stood surrounded by the dazzling golden bonnets of sunflowers. They filled the photograph. Her smile , however, overshadowed the entire field.
“Indeed…” He mimicked her, then smiled .
“Granny took that photo.” She simply stated.
“You must have been her little sunflower.” He then laughed. And her heart quickened.
Her eyes came to rest on his...Green pools of light that pulled her into an eddy of contentment. And suddenly she knew….Knew that he was the reason for her song.
“I’m Thomas---”
“I’m Serene---”
They spoke in unison.
“I’m an artist.” he continued….
“I know.” She answered with the same assuredness that he had shown earlier.
“Let’s go to dinner.” It was more a declaration than an invitation and as such, she should have been insulted. But she knew, just as she had known that he was an artist, that things were as they should be.
“Italian?” She stood then readied herself to go . He nodded.
“Spaghetti?” He recommended. She nodded as well.
“And champagne!” She insisted.
“My favorite.” He smiled “Espresso? Afterward?”
“Of course!” She emphatically stated. “How else would we end such an evening?
“End?” He stood, reached for her hand then placed her arm in his. "I suspect, my dear, that for you and I, there will only be a series of intermissions."
And no conclusion was ever truer because from that time on they were inseparable. He bought her Caruso records for her victrola and sunflowers from the florist on the corner. She bought him paints from Paris. They went to dance halls and danced till closing. And on wintry nights when there was nothing to be done they simply talked….Hours spent in conversation and never a lack of topic. And so, within six months they decided to marry.
On nights when Serene was spent, after a long performance, Thomas would draw her a bath and then put her to bed. And on others when he was uninspired he would go to the theatre and sit in his favorite seat where she would be sure to see him. He would close his eyes and simply listen to her make love to him with her voice. And then he would come home and paint, her songs in his heart, her music in the hand that moved across the canvas.
It was not always easy between them. She snored at times and kept him awake. He drank too much on others. And both had strong opinions. But they were as imperfectly perfect as two people could ever be.
Five years passed. Five years of more happiness than either of them had ever imagined possible. And then one Autumn afternoon on a day when Serene did not have to perform she burst through the door of their apartment, her heart aflutter with excitement.
“What is it my darling?” Thomas thought she had never looked lovelier even if she was dressed completely in black.
She placed her purse on the bedside table then reached for the pin in her hat. She wanted to be calm when she told him her news. The light from the window cast a beam of gold upon her and her auburn hair was suddenly ablaze in brandished fire. Thomas audibly sighed.
“Wait!” he cried then stilled her hand. “Don’t move!” Serene watched as he ran to gather his easel and then his paints.
He made her stand in the light, her hair bathed in the beams while he brought her to life on canvas. Serene who was accustomed to his bursts of inspiration was quite content to oblige him. He painted furiously his hand racing against the coming of night…His lady, all in black save for a burst of auburn flame and the honey hue of her skin. But halfway through he glanced up and found her studying him. And when his eyes met hers, she rendered him a smile... A secret smile… designed only for a lover’s eyes…A smile that promised so much more. And suddenly he forgot his good intentions.
He led her to their bed, and beckoned her to sit down. Then he knelt to remove her boots. Carefully with the gentleness of a handmaiden before a queen he helped her remove her garments one by one.And when they were face to face at last, Serene felt such a rush of love for Thomas it filled every space of her being. In that moment there were no words to be uttered and her news was soon forgotten. For love was in a language that had been written long before either of them had ever been born. And he loved her until all rational thought ceased to be.
Darkness enveloped them when she awoke save for a sliver of light from a marquis across the street that glanced over Thomas. She ached to wake him and tell him of her news but he slumbered so peacefully she let him be. Instead she slipped away quietly and ran down to the Italian Restaurant across the street to see if the owners would make her up two plates of spaghetti, antipasto, and whatever else she could think of….And pastries for dessert. For there was much to celebrate--A secret that had been kept for several weeks now until she was certain that it could be revealed.
A few minutes later , she scurried toward the restaurant’s front door, her arm heavy with her purchase and her thoughts a menagerie of daydreams. As she exited, the brisk October night seemed to slap at her taking her breath away. The insults kept coming, a cacophony of rat ta tat tat, that should have alerted her to danger. But her senses had turned inward as she contemplated how happy Thomas would be at her news.
The black sedan sped by spraying the storefront with a maelstrom of bullets. Glass and wood exploded all around her. But she was distracted by the wet spot on her waistcoat now gliding across her abdomen. She reached down to touch the warm fluid that seeped out from some mysterious origin and her hand came away red. Somewhere behind her she heard people scream her name and then the sound of her package hitting the ground. And then there was only silence.
* * * * * * * * *
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Hmmm...
Well I haven't been on much lately due to real life getting in the way. It never does rain but it pours! I'm back at the drawing board, working on a portrait of the G man, Gerry Butler and while I'm doing this it looks like I might have another commission. And I just woke up one day with a great idea for a novel, so off to NaNoWriMo land I go next month to try and write 50,000 words in 30 days. And as if THAT isn't enough I am going on vacation next week....
Which brings me to my next topic...PAST LIVES...And the novel I'm going to write....
But a quick blurb would not do this topic justice so I'll save it for next time. But perhaps in the meantime you can consider just what you think about this notion. Are souls recycled? Do we get "do overs" in order to transform into higher beings worthy of going to the ethereal plane? Or do we only get one shot at life and then live eternity with the consequences?
Think about it.......
Which brings me to my next topic...PAST LIVES...And the novel I'm going to write....
But a quick blurb would not do this topic justice so I'll save it for next time. But perhaps in the meantime you can consider just what you think about this notion. Are souls recycled? Do we get "do overs" in order to transform into higher beings worthy of going to the ethereal plane? Or do we only get one shot at life and then live eternity with the consequences?
Think about it.......
Thursday, October 14, 2010
The Sky's The Limit
This is my idea of a perfect day:
Arms outstretched, opened wide
I gaze upon a great divide.
Metal bird, wings that soar
Take me to the evermore...
Then let me go, down to below
Poised, I take a breath................. then jump........................
Plummeting
Through pristine
Clouds of chrystalline
Shards of ice
Flashes of white
Winds slap
And attack
My breath held back
Plunging downward
Spiral dances
Gravity is not my friend
Nor backward glances
It's time! Screams my inner voice
I heed the words and make the choice
And yank the cord,
Such reward, to hear the swoosh of parachute
Relief I absolutely can't refute.
The ground below spreads its arms
Mother Earth turns on her charm
She calls to me...
Such ecstasy, the view from up above
I'm sailing down, like peaceful dove
Sailing... soaring... sailing.......
...Glance below...
The canvas getting larger, verdant, the greens diverging
Becoming bushes, trees and grass, details emerging
And then my feet touch ground at last.
Replete yet empty, I look up
Blinded by the sun once more
I want to rise again and soar
'Gainst gravity and Newton's law...
I gather parachute and walk away
Thinking that tomorrow is another day.....
Arms outstretched, opened wide
I gaze upon a great divide.
Metal bird, wings that soar
Take me to the evermore...
Then let me go, down to below
Poised, I take a breath................. then jump........................
Plummeting
Through pristine
Clouds of chrystalline
Shards of ice
Flashes of white
Winds slap
And attack
My breath held back
Plunging downward
Spiral dances
Gravity is not my friend
Nor backward glances
It's time! Screams my inner voice
I heed the words and make the choice
And yank the cord,
Such reward, to hear the swoosh of parachute
Relief I absolutely can't refute.
The ground below spreads its arms
Mother Earth turns on her charm
She calls to me...
Such ecstasy, the view from up above
I'm sailing down, like peaceful dove
Sailing... soaring... sailing.......
...Glance below...
The canvas getting larger, verdant, the greens diverging
Becoming bushes, trees and grass, details emerging
And then my feet touch ground at last.
Replete yet empty, I look up
Blinded by the sun once more
I want to rise again and soar
'Gainst gravity and Newton's law...
I gather parachute and walk away
Thinking that tomorrow is another day.....
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Zerophilia???
So last Friday night when I finally had the big huge TV in the family room all to myself I decided to settle in and watch one of my favorite movies, Zerophilia. For those who have no idea what it's about, it's basically about people of either sex that have an extra chromosome and can change sex initially whenever they have the "O". Eventually they discover that they prefer one sex over the other and they choose to be one or the other.
Now imagine if we all could do that. No more "Men are from Mars, Women from Venus" books, no more counseling to understand why he doesn't listen, and she never shuts up, no more wondering what turns the other sex on...It sure does sound great. Of course sex education would be a nightmare. But hey, that would be a small price to pay.
But honestly, if you could choose what sex you'd like to be, would you choose any differently? And underneath it all are men really all that different from women? Or do all of us carry the same baggage to a greater or lesser degree? And how much of who we are, male or female, is really just the product of our socialization?
Science theorizes that for a fetus to become male an extra step is needed that causes some degree of damage to the bridge between the two hemispheres of the male brain. It definitely allows men to focus more intensely on one thing at a time. Ever try to talk to a guy while he's watching a football game? See how far you get with that. A corpse would probably be more responsive.
Now women on the other hand have a huge bridge between the two hemispheres which accounts for how a mother can be on the phone while typing on her laptop and helping her kids with their homework. Of course all that multitasking means her brain is always in overdrive, which is probably why we talk so much.
Then of course there's the Venus and Mars people who say that men "do" and women "feel". Okay....So that's why your hubby buys you a vacuum cleaner for your 20th wedding anniversary and you "feel" insulted. And of course, he fixes your car out of love rather than for fear of hearing you nag about how he never delivers.
Alright so maybe there ARE a few differences. But how different? Ever look at women after menopause? Their hair thins, their waists thicken, voices deepen and they develop a keen sense of not putting up with any crap from anybody. They become like...their husbands.
And the husbands? Well... after a certain age they suddenly seem to develop a desire for conversation and a keen interest in what exactly their female partners do all day.
So does it all come down to a hormone ratio? Who knows? Or do we really want to know?
Now imagine if we all could do that. No more "Men are from Mars, Women from Venus" books, no more counseling to understand why he doesn't listen, and she never shuts up, no more wondering what turns the other sex on...It sure does sound great. Of course sex education would be a nightmare. But hey, that would be a small price to pay.
But honestly, if you could choose what sex you'd like to be, would you choose any differently? And underneath it all are men really all that different from women? Or do all of us carry the same baggage to a greater or lesser degree? And how much of who we are, male or female, is really just the product of our socialization?
Science theorizes that for a fetus to become male an extra step is needed that causes some degree of damage to the bridge between the two hemispheres of the male brain. It definitely allows men to focus more intensely on one thing at a time. Ever try to talk to a guy while he's watching a football game? See how far you get with that. A corpse would probably be more responsive.
Now women on the other hand have a huge bridge between the two hemispheres which accounts for how a mother can be on the phone while typing on her laptop and helping her kids with their homework. Of course all that multitasking means her brain is always in overdrive, which is probably why we talk so much.
Then of course there's the Venus and Mars people who say that men "do" and women "feel". Okay....So that's why your hubby buys you a vacuum cleaner for your 20th wedding anniversary and you "feel" insulted. And of course, he fixes your car out of love rather than for fear of hearing you nag about how he never delivers.
Alright so maybe there ARE a few differences. But how different? Ever look at women after menopause? Their hair thins, their waists thicken, voices deepen and they develop a keen sense of not putting up with any crap from anybody. They become like...their husbands.
And the husbands? Well... after a certain age they suddenly seem to develop a desire for conversation and a keen interest in what exactly their female partners do all day.
So does it all come down to a hormone ratio? Who knows? Or do we really want to know?
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
My Country Tis of Thee...
In three weeks, those of us in the USA will go to the polls and vote for Congressional candidates in National elections. Ad campaigns bandy about slogans, news media outlets spew out stories about national policy issues and controversial campaigns. Democrats slur Republicans. Republicans retaliate. Same old, same old.
To me the larger question is: Who will stand up for America? For the principals upon which this country was built? Have we forgotten why we became a nation in the first place?
Now I don’t like bringing up politics as it is a very thorny issue with most people but I would ask of everyone these few questions before you go and vote. Are you better off now than you were in the last election? Are we headed in the right direction? Are our incumbants adhering to the principals upon which our country was founded? Are you happy with the balance of power between the government and the people?
Then go and vote….
As for me, I’m going to vote for freedom: the freedom to live my life as I see fit with minimal government interference. The freedom to choose how I die without government interference. The freedom to keep my wages in MY pocket with minimal government interference. The freedom to save my money and keep it for retirement without government interference. The freedom to raise my children as I see fit with minimal government interference. The freedom to allow my heirs to inherit what I’ve worked my whole life to build with minimal government interference. The freedom of businesses to operate with minimal government interference.And Doctors and Teachers to do the very same...
I will also vote for those who will uphold a government that will protect me from abuse whether domestic or foreign. As I see it that is its main responsibility. The rest is up to me.
To me the larger question is: Who will stand up for America? For the principals upon which this country was built? Have we forgotten why we became a nation in the first place?
Now I don’t like bringing up politics as it is a very thorny issue with most people but I would ask of everyone these few questions before you go and vote. Are you better off now than you were in the last election? Are we headed in the right direction? Are our incumbants adhering to the principals upon which our country was founded? Are you happy with the balance of power between the government and the people?
Then go and vote….
As for me, I’m going to vote for freedom: the freedom to live my life as I see fit with minimal government interference. The freedom to choose how I die without government interference. The freedom to keep my wages in MY pocket with minimal government interference. The freedom to save my money and keep it for retirement without government interference. The freedom to raise my children as I see fit with minimal government interference. The freedom to allow my heirs to inherit what I’ve worked my whole life to build with minimal government interference. The freedom of businesses to operate with minimal government interference.And Doctors and Teachers to do the very same...
I will also vote for those who will uphold a government that will protect me from abuse whether domestic or foreign. As I see it that is its main responsibility. The rest is up to me.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
A Friend Indeed...
Today I was thinking about friendship and what it means to be a friend. And what I concluded is that a true friend simply allows you to BE...Be who you ARE, faults and all...They don't judge you, or try to change you into a mirror image or version of themselves. And they don't run away at the first sign of trouble. Nor do they consider you merely a convenience. Or a possible source of something they might need from time to time.
When you confide and trust in them they store up your confidences in a vault of golden silence, never allowing anyone to enter the inner sanctum of that sacred place. And when there are no words left to be shared, they simply hold your hand and glance with you in the same direction.
Just as you depend on the ground to not cave in when you stand upon it, so should you be able to count on a friend to be the legs upon which you stand, never forgetting that friendship is a two way street and that to have a friend you must also be one. And if it means that the number of true friends you have, being equal to the time you invest in true friendship is quite small, then so be it. Because honestly, it is far better to have one friend with those qualities than ten of the watered down version.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
A Wrinkle in Time?
It had been several years since the last of my Grandparents had passed away, what some would call “the end of an era” and I was beginning to understand all too well just what that meant. Life was getting difficult for me. And I began to appreciate just how strong and courageous my Grandparents must have been to survive as long as they did and still be sane and kindhearted. I wondered if my generation would be up to the challenge.
I was in the throes of Fibromyalgia and had a chronically ill child to boot. There were days I could hardly get out of bed, I was in so much pain, let alone tend to my kids and umpteenth other responsibilities yet somehow, I managed to keep going. But something was very wrong. I was getting chest pain and I was afraid to fall asleep at night for fear that I wouldn’t wake up. My heart would race out of control at times and everything would seem to go black. And at others, when I was awake I was so dizzy, I couldn’t stand up straight. Driving was out of the question. And Doctors had no idea what was happening to me.
Eventually a good friend recommended an unconventional and brilliant Doctor, who would not take anything at face value and through him I got an answer. And I learned that if I had not gotten to the bottom of the problem when I did, my heart might have one day just stopped beating. The recovery, however, was quite protracted and took years. But recover I did.
One night, early on, during that period of recovery I fell asleep and had a strange dream...
I entered a night club. Shadows and shades of red surrounded me. A disco ball flashed sparkling flecks of light--little tiny diamonds-- that swirled around the dance floor in the middle of the room. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw familiar faces…Friends and relatives, that I hadn’t seen in years. Perry Como music playing on the jukebox, brought me back to christenings and birthday parties I had attended as child. I could almost hear the crinoline crinkle of my party dresses from long ago, as I curtsied to show my Grandmas how pretty I looked in my new patent leather Mary Janes and lace anklets.
Then I turned and saw a u-shaped bar off to the left, tended by a man who looked like he had stepped out of the TV show “Cheers”. Two older women sat there chatting with the man and as I approached I realized that they were my Grandmothers…“Big Grandma and Little Grandma” as we called them, as one was quite a bit taller than the other. My heart swelled with love and joy for the two women who had loved me unconditionally and had filled in the blanks of my childhood as only Grandparents could do.
“Grandma!” I said to the taller one as I wrapped my arms around her. “I’ve really missed you.” She had been the last of my Grandparents to pass on and so I’d gotten to know her the best of all of them.
She wore a black taffeta dress and white pearls, simple but elegant, as she’d always been in life. Her legs were crossed at the ankles and she smoked a Pall Mall cigarette…Her trademark…
“Hello dear!” She exclaimed. “How nice to see you again” I glanced over her shoulder to see my cousin Mike walk by. He had died at 48 of cancer. We had played together as children.
“Where are we?” I asked her, confused as to what occasion I was attending. But Big Grandma simply smiled.
A gentle voice behind me piped up. “Debra?”
I turned around to view the tiny woman who stood before me. Her hair was thin and very gray and she wore spectacles…Her voice was soft and melodious. I could still recall her operatic rendition of the song “Fascination” that she had sung to me so many years ago. It was the only time that I had ever heard her not stammer. In life she’d had a nervous condition and she’d stuttered furiously at times.
I folded her into my arms and held on tight. I hadn’t seen her since I was seventeen. Tears welled up in my eyes and for a moment I was overwhelmed.
“It’s so good to see you again Grandma. It’s been so long….” She held me tightly, stroking my hair as she’d done so many times when I was a child. There were so many things I’d wanted to ask her over the years since she’d passed on.
Eventually I composed myself and took a seat between the two icons of my youth. Big Grandma ordered me a rum and coca cola. “You look like you could use drink.” She smiled that mischievous smile of hers. She’d always been the rebel of my Dad’s family. “Now tell us what’s been going on in your life.”
As I relayed all that had happened to me since I’d last spoken to either of them I glanced around the room. All of a sudden something stirred from deep with within, like an eddy in a pond that draws up the murkiness of the water’s bed. My gut lurched at the realization that everyone in the room had died at one time or another. I was the only living soul in the club.
“What is this place?” I felt a rising panic.
Little Grandma took my hand. “Don’t be afraid.” She cooed…”We’ve all missed you so much. It’s so good to see you again. How is your Mother?” My mother had been such a big help to my Grandma over the years. And vice versa. A rush of love mingled with confusion consumed me. I wondered if I would remain as close to my own kids as time went on. A longing to be with them overwhelmed me.
“I’ve got to go!” I declared as I stood then turned to leave.
Big Grandma placed her hand on my arm. “I wish you could stay.” She sighed. I looked from one to the other. Then I peered around the room. There was so much love here. And so many memories. I felt a peace wash over me that I had never known before. But a sadness enveloped me as I thought of my children.
“I can’t…” I murmured so softly they both had to lean in to hear me. “It’s not time yet.”
The two women simply gazed at me and smiled in understanding, though I sensed their disappointment. “We know…” They said in unison…I poured over their faces one last time and then I felt myself pulled away like a time traveler rushing past the speed of light.
Suddenly I woke up….
I thought about that dream for a long time afterward. Had I died in my sleep for a slight instant or, were the two women that I had loved so much simply giving me a glimpse into the other side, to show me that no matter what happened in the future, it would be alright? To this day I’m not really sure. But I am comforted in the knowledge that they are at peace. And they are watching over me--my two Guardian Angels-- And that someday when I am ready I will see them again at a lovely family reunion.
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